In the morning, words invigorate me.
I wake up to emails and Facebook and Twitter. On my drive to work, I seek out the talkers on the radio. From the poignant, thought-provoking stories on NPR to the celebrity gossip/random musings on the Pop station, I drink it all up. I flip channels when the music starts. I. Want. The. Words.
I listen to the choices people make. Interesting that she said ‘embrace’ instead of ‘hug’ and I wonder why. I fold words I’ve known forever back into my vocabulary. I collect inspiration for later writings.
Yes, I start my day as a writer.
And then, all day long, I talk. And I listen. And words flood over me and out of me. I try to catch them all. I try to carry them with me. But, word-by-word, they become heavy.
In the evening, words exhaust me.
I look for solace anywhere. I put away the emails and Facebook and Twitter. On my drive home from work, I seek out the music on the radio. I hum along. No words, just notes. At home, I turn on more music. I sing to Baby as we pack her lunch and make her dinner. Because somehow, in the singing, the words are easier to take. They are no longer just words, they are melodies. I take photos. I drink up the sights of my daughter dropping grapes into a bowl and watch my husband as he walks in the door and quietly decompresses from his day. I savor these wordless memories and enjoy the quiet of these moments.
To end my day, I draw. Lines and colors coming together to create an image and convey a message without words. I settle into the softness of such a message, welcoming interpretation.
Yes, I end my day as a visual artist.
And by the morning, I am ready for the words again.